Monday, February 2, 2009

The aggrandising audacity of my perspicacityPassed down from bards all through perpetuityThe gift of word games an inherited gratuityMetered out method of melodic mythology.Word-spell wizardy, taking your mind into captivityWith my shamanic ritual of hypnotic descriptivity.

What are poems if not the moment sublimeCaptured on page and by voice to defy test of timeClearly, rhyme shinesIn my lyrical contentBut I don’t think you’re missing the message I meantTo state non-obsequiously, remaining relevantThat Poetry is God manifest to bless the reverent.

It needs a reaction, to gain true satisfactionPoetry to me not an idle distractionA conviction that diction can be truly liberatoryNot just lulling you to sleep like a bedtime storySo don’t bore me, with your tawdry lines that lack-luster;Unconvincing poems for which I cannot musterA breathe of enthusiasm, I remain unpossessed by GodWatching people onstage blowing their literary wad.

Give me some fire!Give me some tears.Give me something that burns in my earsGive me tsunami!Give me desolate.Something that resounds with my fear of my own fate.Devastate me with declared disaster and woe,Make me choke on jokes and my guts to want throwEffect me, erect me, get me to respond to youLeave me with the feeling that what has happened is true.

Be a poet like a lover, a shaman, a kingWarrior, pirate, artist, heroin.Like a jester or clown or cloud or a stingFor love of God be a poet that is like something.Not nothing, not empty pretension and word playDiscover inside what it is that you really need to sayFind the words that blaze from you like the fires of the SunBlasting from your heart like a bullet from a gunDon’t run, have fun, like an orgasm you comeSpreading love-word-love to all some or noneLeave me broken, deflowered, transformed, transfixedBewildered, beleaguered, conflicted, complicitIn the murder of the self I was before I heard you speakTransport me to the highest heights of your poetic peak.

Don’t be afraidI’ll start off slow, gentleWith little short wordsSo you relax, get comfortableSo you start you like itThen they’ll get biggerHarder, fasterCaressing you with lexisTitillating with syntaxObfusticating with metaphorEgregious with symbolism

I want to see the look on your faceAs you feel my words working their literary magicAs the unrelenting flowThe pressureThe insistence of my wordsTransforms your experienceFrom the mundane to the supreme

I want you to gasp as I thrustA deep wordA grammar of ecstasyA vocabulary of entries and exitsRight up inside your mental crevassesInfiltrating areas you never knew you had

Wording, wording, wordingSuck on my wordsPut my words in your mouthAnd spit them back out at me

I want to ride your pentameter!Incite me to further daring acts of wordageWord me like you’ve never been worded beforeYou’ve got the best words in the worldThe biggest wordsThe hardest wordsThe best words I’ve ever had

George Wielgus: The creative process should be fast and furious, orgasmic, uneditted, raw, blasting out of you with the velocity of a bullet from a gun. Bukowski had much to say about writing and rewriting, and I would be in agreement that the less editting the better. The more you agonise over words, the further you get from the honesty of expression that will personalise your voice and your work. The skill is to write all the time, not rewrite, to push forward with your creations, to bring closer together the impossible ideal of the internal thought externalised purely and convincingly.

George Wielgus, AKA Mighty Jah-J!, is not a poet, not an artist, not a volunteer, not a director, not a teacher, not an activist, not multi-hyphenate anything, really. He did win two of the three ever Kuala Lumpur Poetry Slams, which means little if anything, and spends his days living in a dying artist's colony in a corner of Malaysia's dying artistic scene. He recently returned from ten days in Sumatra, where he had to share maggie mee with his travelling partner, and spent most of his time riding around in ice-box buses, fearing for his life on terrifying high-speed cross-country death-jaunts. It was the best holiday he's ever been on.